


Pine

by theinvalidedsoldier



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, C137cest, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Morty Is Not Okay, References to Depression, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26606500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvalidedsoldier/pseuds/theinvalidedsoldier
Summary: "Fucking ch-chain me to a table and experiment on me, dissect me from the inside out, erase my memories 'till I-I'm a vegetable. Nothing will make what I'm feeling go away yo-y-you old fuck!"Standoff.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez & Morty Smith, Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	Pine

**Author's Note:**

> This'll be a long one.

The first time Beth had pulled him aside he had ignored it, the stench of boxed wine hid under her tongue as cheap mints tried to contain it - it was easier to dismiss it as hereditary drunk ramblings. The Sanchez’ did that from time to time. 

“Dad, does he look tired to you?”

Was that an insinuation that Rick wasn’t noticing some pivotal part of Morty’s life? As if he wouldn’t notice something of that nature. But when Rick came to think of it, as he glanced at the ashen face of his now seventeen-year-old grandson, yeah. He did look tired, very very tired.

“H-huh?” Feigning nonchalance was always the best route with Beth. “That’s just his - urp - face, B-Beth, sweetie.” 

Rick had just come home from an all-inclusive trip ‘round the stratosphere, crashing birthday parties that were certainly not his own and inhaling, sniffing and blowing any form of substance he could get his wiry hands on. The bender had been needed, and had also been a long time coming, better to do it far away from his family’s weary eyes though. Said benders had started becoming more lengthy, and much more destructive. Better not to involve Morty, too. It wasn’t something he wanted him to see.

He had some shit he needed to get over, if ‘getting over’ meant repressing it with an ungodly amount of drugs and a nymphomania-induced whoring marathon - then yeah, Rick was coping. 

Rick had been gone two weeks, two god damn weeks; and as he snuck a sideways glance at his grandson’s sunken eyes and rotten complexion, he wondered what the fuck could’ve gone down in fourteen days that would be so overbearing on the teen. 

At night he could hear the faint pottering of anxious feet pacing back and forth in Morty’s room, not succumbing to silence until well into the early hours of the morning. He would emerge the morning after looking, impossibly, even more tired than the night before, and seemed to have even less to say that day.

If Morty were an android, Rick would’ve suspected robotic malware, as it almost seemed as if there was a malfunction or discrepancy in the young boy - it was as though Morty was shutting down. Switching off.

And Rick didn’t know how to feel.

Well, that was untrue. He knew precisely how and what to feel, and what he would say given the opportunity, the opportunity of allowing himself that level of vulnerability. But instead he said nothing, and did nought but watch as there seemed to be less and less of Morty to spectate as the days turned to weeks, and weeks to months.

The second time Beth approached him on the topic of his grandson’s wellbeing was two months, a full eight weeks after his return home, with Jerry in tow. It annoyed Rick how everyone assumed that he would know. Yes, Morty did spend practically every waking moment with the spiky-haired scientist, and yes, their relationship didn’t have much akin to healthiness and stability, but how would he know what Morty was going through? Did he ask? No. Did he care? Well.

And besides, it wasn’t likely that Morty would approach him of his own volition, Rick didn’t have a track record with being the most empathetic or comprehensive person. Yet he could blame no one but himself for his nature, approachability being a skill in of itself, it just so happened that it wasn’t one he was very interested in developing. 

Why bother in becoming more approachable, when nobody in their right mind would come to Rick with any of their issues? Most people knew better. It seems Morty did too.

Did Morty not realise that he was different? Despite Rick’s vehement denial of this fact every damn day, it did nothing to diminish his tolerance (affection) for the head-wrecking (adorable) teen. Was the mere fact that Rick spent most days with him despite most circumstances enough of a clue that he wanted Morty around? That being said, Rick had said some truly awful things to discourage that way of thinking. Fucking Morty Waves, my ass.

It was late at night and his ankle was beginning to tighten. Suspected arthritis, Rick reckoned. He vowed to keep an eye on that before it became a problem. Beth had cornered him in the kitchen, a smug Jerry shuffling at her side looking uncertain as to his position in the room’s volatile power dynamic, but nonetheless confrontational. Not to mention happy about it. Rick could smell an accusation making its way to the forefront.

“Dad, we need to talk,” Beth started, narrowing her eyes and planting her wee feet into the kitchens linoleum - a battle stance. 

“You’re d-deciding to do this now? Huh? T-Timely.” 

The night before Morty and Summer’s parent-teacher conferences, convenient. Morty’s erratic and frankly worrying behaviour had been one aspect of concern for the Sanchez-Smith dynamic, and it definitely didn’t help when Morty’s school rang Beth to confirm that he was still enrolled within their questionable academic ranks. It seemed that neither Rick nor Morty were taking into account how many days of school the adolescent had been missing, it wasn’t something Rick particularly cared about, but whilst staring into the furious eyes of his daughter he began to rethink the notion.

Beth took in a slow, calculated breath to ground herself, “I know you said that it wasn’t worth bringing up again but..” 

She faltered, eyeing her father’s hostile demeanour. Why did he have to make things so difficult, all the fucking time? Jerry nudged her.

“But there is something wrong with Morty.” Jerry elbowed at her again, “And we will be drawing a line for the future if you don’t find some way to get through to him.”

“No one else can,” She added.

“‘Drawing a line for the future’ meaning what exactly - urp - Beth?” Rick drawled, arms crossed. It didn't take much to intimidate Beth, but for some reason he felt like hearing her out this time. He wouldn't make a habit out of it.

“You know exactly what we mean, Rick,” Jerry interjected, finger outstretched. The poor, miserable shaking creature. Faux confidence was a funny thing, “Either you get Morty sorted, or we pull the plug on your adventures. Simple as.”

Rick wasn't sure when precisely his stance in the family's hierarchy shifted, but he'd be damned if he'd let the injustice continue. 

“Y-Yeah, thanks for the ultimatum J-Jerry. Really means a lot coming from you.” A pointed look in his general direction was enough to send Jerry's bravado crumbling, “But if Morty won't talk to you fuckers, which I can't blame, look at the t-two of you. Wh-Why the fuck would he talk to me?”

It was a pretty pointless and obvious question, Rick knew that - but it was all for biding time. Formulating an appropriate response that wouldn't give away his own worry, that would sound as characteristically dismissive as much as the scientist could muster. He well acknowledged that while the three of them were having this conversation, Morty's suffering was only prolonged. Each second that went by was merely another that passed in which he didn't know how to fix his grandson. 

And wasn't that tragic?

Pushing off from his spot against the kitchen counter, Rick sashayed to the fridge. An act of nonchalance so convincing, even Rick himself questioned its validity. Jerry and Beth slid past him wordlessly, accepting that this was the end of a conversation that had only just begun. These were the correct power dynamics in the house, none other. Fishing for a beer that would do little to aid his worry, Rick swivelled to meet the pair once more.

“If this is your idea of a confrontation Beth, honey, y-you really need to reevaluate your intimidation t-urp-actics.”

Beth pulled a face, it was one of affrontedness, but Rick could read the shame between the lines as easily as the alphabet. Like father like daughter, wasn't that what she wanted?

“Okay Dad, but--“

Rick raised a hand, “I'll keep an eye on him, Beth. Now leave it.”

And with the last words hanging in the air, he turned on his foot and exited the room, tempted to discard the beer in his hand but ultimately deciding against it. He wasn't acting like himself with all of the needless concern for Morty, sure, but he wasn't a completely different person. So with a swig and a burp he retreated to the garage to ponder. That was all that there was left to do. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m looking for beta readers for future works - anyone interested please message me @nastyblighter on Tumblr!


End file.
